


An Old Fashioned Tale of A Dame and Her Knight

by WInger



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Chivalry, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hope for the future, Love, Oneshot, Romance, Sex, Sweet, respectful boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WInger/pseuds/WInger
Summary: The haunted, abandoned dormitories of Garreg Mach inspires feelings of loss and intimacy within the two young lovers.---“Maybe I’ll just move intoyourroom,” she quips, seeing the opportunity and taking it. While he doesn’t blush, the little scratch he did on the side of his head betrayed his slight embarrassment. “Make yourself at home,” he counters, looking at her with warm, honeypot eyes. It wasn’t even in Ferdinand’s nature to tease – this was him being sincere, wanting her company, wishing for her to be happy with him.---
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	An Old Fashioned Tale of A Dame and Her Knight

She remembered visiting the upper floor dormitories of Garreg Mach’s aristocrat sleeping quarters, and being distinctly unimpressed by the fact that, apart from a marginally better view and slightly better privacy, there was nothing else to it, with the dimensions and layout of the rooms identical to the peasant ones below.

Now, five years later, Dorothea’s only thought is that it’s truly remarkable that these rooms were still standing, unscathed, after the Empire’s attack. When the owners fled, the bulk of their belongings remained; opened books, wilted flowers, half-written notes and unmade beds, all covered by a uniform film of dust. Stepping into Sylvain’s room was like being transported back in time. It was creepy, but exceedingly sad, and unexpectedly Dorothea found herself blinking away the sudden wetness in her eyes.

“I figured you would be hear,” comes a velvety, masculine, disembodied voice, and Dorothea jumps and yelps, swinging around to slap whatever ghost that was with palms charged with Faith magic.

But it turned out to be no other than the living, breathing Ferdinand. He looked taken aback by her reaction, two hands half-raised in surrender. Dorothea exhales with an eye roll and a groan. “Ferdie! Don’t sneak up on me!”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he murmurs, the apology audible in his voice. He reaches into the breast of his suit and pulls out a handkerchief, which he holds out to her. She accepts it with some surprise, having thought that she’d been sure not to let any tears escape her eyes. Instead of dabbing at her face, she holds the silk square up against her nose and sniffs, curious. Ferdinand’s eyes drifts from her to Sylvain’s abandoned room; his expression is somber, and he lets out a sigh much like Dorothea had. “I can’t stand these cold, empty rooms.” He takes her other hand and tugs gently, suggesting to leave rather than outright pulling her away.

She acquiesces. Fresh off confessing their feelings to one another (on the battlefield, of all places), she was still prone to feeling bursts of butterflies in her chest whenever either of them acknowledged the other in romantic or meaningful gestures. And yet, it was also more than the just high of a new relationship – Ferdinand is sweet and kind-hearted down to his very core. For all that he used to ramble about "the noble standard", he had unironically come to represent the best of their values; to the extent that even Dorothea, the girl with the biggest chip on her shoulder against nobles, had come to find him genuinely appealing.

“Garreg Mach should let the rest of us move upstairs,” she raises, wanting to offset her mind’s tangent of Ferdinand’s charm. “Nothing about this class system is worth preserving, and especially not now, in the peak of war.”

“I, for one, would greatly appreciate your company.” Ferdinand smiles. “And I’m impressed you don’t find these rooms more than a little haunted.”

She winces. She hadn’t dared to go further than Slyvain’s door because of that awful aura radiating out of next-door’s Dimitri.

“Maybe I’ll just move into _your_ room,” she quips, seeing the opportunity and taking it. While he doesn’t blush, the little scratch he did on the side of his head betrayed his slight embarrassment. “Make yourself at home,” he counters, looking at her with warm, honeypot eyes. It wasn’t even in Ferdinand’s nature to tease – this was him being sincere, wanting her company, wishing for her to be happy with him.

It’s in the littlest things that Ferdinand does that makes her the happiest. She thought back to the girl that she was a mere five years ago, manipulating weak-hearted boys and squeezing every possible penny from their pockets for extravagant gestures, luxurious gifts, and status symbols. What would that prima donna think of Dorothea now – a woman that kisses her man every time he smiles her way?

It’s hardly their first proper kiss – there’s always plenty of time during the travels to and from battles – but it’s the most intimate one yet, likely as they were lingering in the arch of his doorway, the privacy and remoteness of the location setting the mood in the air. Her lips were light against his, and his muscly arms were firm and unhurried around her waist. It's the kind of kiss - of love- that suspended time. 

He’s always been respectful of her boundaries, and though Dorothea yearned to up the level of intimacy, she didn’t want to pressure him into going along with her ideas. Though she hinted with everything she had, which was plenty enough, leaning against his body and getting as much body-on-body contact as possible.

His eyes seemed darker, hooded with a budding intensity as he stared at her through the kiss.

She wondered in the back of her mind if it would be better to articulate her lust out loud, just so that he would have a fair amount of time to consider.

Ferdinand beats her to it. “Dorothea,” he says, his voice deep like a slip of silk sliding sensually down her spine. “Would you like to…”

He trails off. Though part of her wanted to wait to see if he would say “have sex” or “make love”, a larger part of her found the half-finished question crystal clear and satisfyingly sexy. She pushes her hip against his and pushes her nails into the back of his shoulders.

They kiss, and kiss, and start to peel off each other’s clothes. Dorothea was glad to be out of hers, but Ferdinand’s took a little more time. Going through his many belts and buckles made her impatient. When everything was off she paused finally, wanting to take in the sight of his body. Symmetrical and strong, as though a god had taken extra special attention when sculpting his body; the occasional scar and blemish more perfecting than ugly. But to attribute all of _this_ to some debatable, omnipotent deity was an insult to Ferdinand’s own efforts, the bulk of which she'd bore firsthand witness to. She spreads her legs almost subconsciously as he leans in, more interested in kissing, tasting, and touching her bare naked skin over anything else.

To her surprise, the first thing he puts in her vagina is his tongue. She cries out, bolts half-upright and squeezes her legs around him. When he had his fill he moved his lips back up to her torso, sucking on the skin under her right breast as his long, thick fingers jerked and stretched until she came.

The initial orgasm brought tears to her eyes. Sated, but still waiting for more, she clings onto the back of his head and chest as she waits for him to enter.

“ _Oh_ , Ferdinand…”

When he moves, it's with purpose and control – as though sex was another skill that he honed relentlessly, alongside his lancing, riding, and amateur magic. His hips are powerful and tireless in a manner that satisfied her old daydreams of what being with a knight would be like, and as they uniformly rode to their climax his hands busied themselves with her breasts – whose size fit perfectly in his large palms – digging into the flesh as Dorothea cried and sucked fiercely at his neck.

He pulls out right as Dorothea comes again, while his body sags against hers, panting, fierce, but relieved.

When she finally caught her breath, Dorothea rolls into his arms and goes, mischievously, “That certainly wasn’t your first time.”

He smiles. The sex seemed to have freed him of his guards the same way it’d gotten Dorothea to abandon all her worldly worries – if only momentarily. “I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you were to consider sex with me as subpar, or worse.”

“Unsurprisingly, the perfectionist Ferdinand von Aegir is good at everything he puts his heart and mind to.”

He looks at her wide-eyed, perhaps a little stunned by her out of the blue, barely disguised compliment. Dorothea's too satisfied to bother being self-conscious about it. “If I’m good enough to win the heart of the beauty with her infamous hatred of nobles, I don’t believe there exists any other challenge too steep for me to conquer.”

She laughs at that. They were such virgin _lovers_ , she doubted he had a proper idea of just how much exactly he’d overcome to possess her heart as securely as he did now. Ultimately, that was something that she was looking forward to discover with him, hand in hand. “A man like you should be grateful that these aren’t different circumstances. Else you would have known me as a cunning seductress; one that would go as far as to take you hostage with your own children.”

If, that is, she hadn’t met Ferdinand von Aegir, and come to know the true meaning of old-fashioned chivalry by watching him work, grow and learn.

“If that was meant as a threat, could I suggest you reframe it as a promise?”

And just like that, the feeling in Dorothea’s heart twists into something else. Coming down from the peak of elation back into the bittersweet reality of war, Dorothea is seized by an impulsive, almost maniacal energy as she climbs up and sits firmly across Ferdinand's chest, abruptly demanding his full and immediate attention: 

“Then we’ll win this war and fulfil that promise to each other.”

He reaches out for her face, cupping her cheeks with his hands. She could see her stiff and paranoid expression reflected in his eyes. Ferdinand's too graceful to lose his composure on the turn of a hat. But she could see the empathy in his eyes, the kind of understanding shared only by those who'd been through the hellfires of war. He takes her hand and lays it on his chest, so that she could feel his heart pounding away, full of vigor and spirit. Even without his soft voice promising "Yes, my love," he knew he was swearing an oath deep in his heart, just as she was in her own, convinced more than ever before that they could make a better tomorrow happen, with their own two hands, with the strength of their conviction, hope, and the knowledge that they had another to live for. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero care about romantic options for myself, the protagonist. I only want my ships to get together. 
> 
> Sorry to keep writing Silver Snow takes… that’s the only route I’ve played so far.


End file.
